


Collision

by strawberriesandtophats



Series: Mud and silk [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: AU, Fear, Hurt/Comfort, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, M/M, Mutual Pining, Richelieu lives, Safety, Torture, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-08 15:54:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8851030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberriesandtophats/pseuds/strawberriesandtophats
Summary: The fact that Richelieu was back never truly appeared to be true until he saw the man in his robes and heard his voice, even though he had been the one along with the Musketeers to save him. Treville had buried him and mourned, and most days Richelieu still felt like a memory.





	1. Chapter 1

Captain Treville could feel Richelieu’s breath on his neck as Treville gripped the Cardinal’s shoulder and pressed him against the wall. A horrifying sound had shaken the gardens below the Palais-Cardinal, most likely a mighty tree had fallen to the ground. Decades of training had kicked in, and he’d physically hauled the Cardinal from his chair behind the desk to the safest location in the office, away from the windows and door, shielding him with his own body from whatever threat might rear its head. Then the Captain had put his finger to his lips and listened intently for any additional sign of danger, just in case that the sound of the tree falling was intentional to cover another sound or as a distraction. Treville had had enough of assassins for one lifetime. He could feel Richelieu’s strong heartbeat underneath his palm though the layers of cloth and smell the faint scent of incense and ink that clung to him beneath the perfume. 

A few seconds passed in silence, the only sound Treville could hear was the sound of his own heart beating frantically in his chest and Richelieu’s breathing. They’d been alone; Treville had just entered the office when the sound had disturbed them. There had been no one to witness this lapse of judgment on Treville’s part. The King was safe and sound at the Louvre and the Musketeers were in the garrison, so that there wouldn’t be any gossip among his men or at the court. They were alone.

“It’s safe,” Treville said, stepping away from the other man, who adjusted his cloak with a rather fussy expression. Treville had seen this movement a thousand times throughout the years, in hallways and the gardens and in a hundred different rooms. It was oddly reassuring to see it now, still the same after all these years.

“Of course it is,” Richelieu said, an edge to his voice. Treville felt the all too familiar spark of anger burn his throat, but he said nothing as he saw the man glance at the window and then at the door with something in his eyes that was far away from the usual arrogant intelligence. 

After all, only a few months had passed since Treville had broken into the Spanish prison where Richelieu had been held and brought him back to Paris. He could still remember the look in Richelieu’s eyes when he’d realized that his escape had not been a dream and how Richelieu had refused to let go of him when they rode back to the city on the same horse as the Cardinal had been in no state to ride on his own. The memory of the warmth of the Cardinal’s bony hands gripping his middle as they rode haunted him when things got too quiet in the garrison at night. 

“I’m right here with you,” Treville heard himself say in his most reassuring voice, the one he used when dealing with frightened cadets who flinched at the sight of a raised hand. He clenched his fist as his heart jumped in his chest, aware of just how inappropriate such a remark was to someone like Richelieu, who had his own guards and was, all things considered, perfectly safe at the moment.

“I’m aware,” the Cardinal breathed, still looking at the window. He didn’t seem disturbed by Treville’s attempt at reassurance.

This was the same response to that remark as he’d given when they had arrived in Paris at dawn after Richelieu’s escape from that dreadful cell. Treville wasn’t sure just how much the Cardinal remembered from that journey, half unconscious as he’d been; muttering prayers in Latin against Treville’s shoulders and the back of his neck as the horse trotted trough the gates.  
Saying something like this to the Cardinal only a year ago would have been unthinkable and would most likely have been the catalyst to a good, old-fashioned argument that would have led to Treville trudging out of the Palais-Cardinal in a foul mood.

But now Richelieu only bowed his head in acknowledgement of a moment that had passed and walked towards the door, motioning for the Captain to follow him. Treville collected his hat, holding it in between his fingers as he closed the door behind them. The material felt reassuring in his hands as he gripped it, a solid reminder of his station as the Captain of the Musketeers.

They walked in silence through the hallways, and Treville could not help noticing that the fabric of Richelieu’s cloak occasionally brushed his arm. He’d arrived at the Cardinal’s office ready for an argument about how his Musketeers were a nuisance to society, but as he glanced at the man beside him he saw that Richelieu appeared to have no plans to fight with him about a recent duel between the Red Guards and some of his men. The man looked oddly content, as he had received some kind of confirmation about a tricky problem that had been solved and the results were in his favor.

It had taken Richelieu just a few months to fix the damage his absence had caused and some days it was like he’d never been gone. The court didn’t dare to aggravate the man who had returned from what had appeared to be death itself to continue to serve God, France and the King. Louis relied on Richelieu like never before and was clearly pleased that Treville and the Cardinal were getting along, even if they still fought like cats and dogs when it suited them. 

Some days Treville woke up and was half-way though his morning routine when the memory of lifting Richelieu up from the cell floor hit him, the sound Richelieu had made when Treville had supported him outside and he’d seen the Musketeers ready with fresh horses under the full moon. 

The fact that Richelieu was back never truly appeared to be true until he saw the man in his robes and heard his voice, even though he had been the one along with the Musketeers to save him. Treville had buried him and mourned, and most days Richelieu still felt like a memory.

Treville was aware that Richelieu had slowed his pace and was looking at him expectantly. In a few seconds, if Treville didn’t respond to that look the Cardinal would become annoyed and say something cutting, so Treville straightened his back and inclined his head slightly to indicate that he was listening.

“Keep me informed of goings-on at the garrison, if you could be so kind, Captain,” Richelieu said, a conspiratorial glint in his eyes as he nodded at Treville, “I’m sure that the Musketeers will find a way to get themselves into trouble sooner rather than later.”

Richelieu swept by, his red cloak billowing behind him and his fingers ghosting over Treville‘s elbow as he headed in the other direction. Treville turned around out of sheer habit, aware of every gust of wind though the windows of this hallway and saw the faint smile on Richelieu’s face. He watched as the Cardinal disappeared from view and then headed back to the garrison.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank bean for beta-reading my fic and helping me out so much! :D

Captain Treville closed his eyes as he sat down in the wooden pew, smelling the wax candles that were burning bright near the altar. The church was a small one, and the silence and cool air inside were a welcome relief from the incessant sounds of the Parisian streets outside. 

It had been a long, exhausting day filled with what Porthos called ‘loud captaining,’ and guarding the King as he walked among the citizens of Paris while heavily guarded by both Red Guards and Musketeers. Treville and Richelieu had kept a close eye on him as well.

Treville breathed in, savoring the peace and quiet and let his head drop as if in prayer. He could afford a moment’s rest.

The church was similar to the one they’d decided to use as a rest stop when they were half-way to Paris after rescuing Richelieu from the Spanish. Treville allowed the memories to crash over him like a wave.

_ The Cardinal’s breathing had become far too shallow for Treville’s liking, and his Latin grammar even worse as he’d whispered prayers while fading in and out of consciousness, clinging to Treville as they rode. Porthos made a comment about the horses needing rest too when they arrived in a tiny village and D’artagnan hurried off to make his strange balm to treat Richelieu’s wounds as soon as he’d dismounted his horse. _

_ Treville carried Richelieu into the village church, light as a sack of feathers, while Aramis had a word with the priest about loaning the Musketeers his church and private room for the duration of the night without telling anyone. The priest glanced at Treville’s expression and nodded hastily. _

_ The room was serviceable, and while Richelieu’s wounds were being treated with rosemary-scented wine balm and his limbs re-bandaged Treville spent his time surveying the area around the church to ensure that they had not been followed by the Spanish. The horses ate grass and regarded Treville and Porthos with interest as they chewed. Treville heard footsteps and saw that Porthos had picked up an enormous wooden barrel that sloshed as he walked, which he placed in front of the horses that immediately began to drink the fresh water. Porthos nodded at Treville, clearly pleased that their journey so far had been a success.  _

_ When Treville re-entered the church the rest of his men headed outside without a word, in order to stand guard and rest for a while, having found a loaf of bread and some cheese in the priest’s room. After galloping for such a long time, it was a relief for them all to be able to stretch their legs. _

_ It was strange, seeing the Cardinal dressed up as a village priest. The priest’s office that was the size of a closet and Richelieu was lying in a makeshift cot while Treville lingered in the doorway. The Cardinal was meant to wear rich cloaks and fine materials, not this scratchy fabric. At least these clothes were clean and whole, unlike the thin rags he’d been wearing in the cell itself. _

_ They had dressed him in Treville’s spare shirt and breeches in order to ride, so that he looked like an injured Musketeer to outsiders. Richelieu had not complained when Treville had laced the shirt himself and lifted him again in order to put him on his horse so that they could ride together. The Cardinal had only made a small sound and squeezed his hand in gratitude, clearly still in shock. It had felt oddly gratifying, seeing Richlieu in his clothes; Treville knew that they were good clothes and he did not have to steadily ignore the wet patches on the rags Richelieu had been wearing before, willing himself to pretend that it had not been fresh blood. _

_ In a way, the vestiments were better as Richelieu was playing one of his roles again, even though it was in a different form. Treville hoped that the man at least felt a bit at home in these clothes, even if they were not his and only temporary. His own shirt and breeches were neatly folded on a nearby desk. _

_ The Cardinal was breathing steadily as he slept and his fingers kept moving, as if he was trying to reach out to touch his cross but could not move his arm without pain. _

_ Treville sat down in an austere wooden chair beside the cot, adjusting the blanket that covered the other man. He looked at Richelieu’s face, at the bruises, and untamed beard, and the scars. _

_ In a few hours they would be back in Paris and Richelieu would be briefly handed over to doctors and barbers and tailors before making his grand entrance to the king.  He took Richelieu’s pulse, which was rather strong as he shifted in his sleep, making a soft sound. _

_ There was a long silence as Treville listened for any noises outside and heard his Musketeers talking in low voices, most likely about the Cardinal.  _

_ Treville began to withdraw his hand, but Richelieu lightly grabbed hold of his fingers. The Cardinal opened his eyes and looked at Treville for a moment as if he was trying to decide if he was real or not. _

_ “Captain Treville?” Richelieu asked, his voice weak. _

_ “Yes?” Treville answered, leaning forwards so that he’d hear what Richelieu was trying to say. _

_ “Are you real, or are you just a figment of my imagination?” Richelieu asked, carefully intertwining their fingers as if to test if they were solid. Treville looked down at their hands, also trying to grasp the reality of the situation. _

_ “I’m real,” Treville replied, “go back to sleep. You need to get some rest before we get going.” _

_ Richelieu slowly closed his eyes and his thumb moved back and forth in small patterns across the skin of Treville’s scarred hand for a long while. _

_ “I’ll stay right here in this chair,” Treville promised and drew the chair slightly closer to the cot. Richelieu nodded and smiled. He did not let go of Treville’s hand even as he slept. _

 

_ Treville woke him up an half an hour later when the horses were ready.  Richelieu insisted on riding with him as before, which Treville did not argue with as the man still looked dreadful, even though he was clearly feeling much better. They had been riding for a while in the darkness of the Paris countryside when Richelieu spoke up, his voice low against the back of Treville’s neck. _

_ “I dreamt of this, you know,” the Cardinal said, his grip on Treville’s waist secure as he held on. _

_ “Surely you did not dream of the Musketeers saving you?” Treville said, focused on the horse’s movements as it trotted along. Falling off when the Cardinal depended on him to stay on the horse and lead the way would have been disastrous.  _

_ “No,” Richelieu breathed, his right hand moving slightly to grip Treville’s arm as the horse stepped on a large rock, “only you.” _

_ Treville made a small humming sound, not sure about how to answer such a response. The man was tired and overwhelmed. It was likely that he had become extremely desperate for rescue and latched onto Treville as an ally. There was no need to analyze this too much. The Cardinal was silent for a while after, as if he’d said his piece and was now holding onto the flesh of Treville’s waist. Treville swallowed, trying to ignore the sensation. His waist was softer than it should be in his opinion, certainly softer than it had been ten years ago.  _

_ Treville knew that he was most likely getting too old for the Musketeers. He was no longer in his prime. He would have to leave soon to tend to his estate, or leave this life in any case. Getting the Cardinal back and restoring peace to France would improve his life expectancy because of the reduced stress. But he would have to leave nonetheless. _

_ He felt Richelieu’s body pressed against his as the man leaned on him, allowing him to carry most of his weight as he rested. It was a very intimate gesture, they had never touched like this before. As soon as they arrived in Paris and their ordinary lives resumed when the Cardinal had recovered, they would never touch like this again. Richelieu sighed and Treville had felt his own heart beat speed up at the sound but tried to ignore it, tightening his grip on the reins. _

_ Starting a relationship with Richelieu was a dangerous endeavor and extremely foolish in these unstable and alarming times. They were not cadets who could tumble around in the hay at a remote farm or a brothel. He refused to take advantage of Richelieu’s vulnerability. The man was simply grateful for being rescued from that horrible place. He was just being fanciful, overwhelmed with the relief of seeing Richelieu alive after having spent long months trying and failing to deal with his death. _

_ “Captain?” Athos asked, riding up to Treville as they saw the lights of Paris in the distance. “Do you want me to take over and assist his Eminence?” _

_ Treville felt bony arms tighten across his middle. _

_ “No, but thank you for the offer, Athos,” Treville answered quickly. “Don’t worry about us. Just keep an eye out for trouble.” _

_ “Yes, Captain,” Athos said. _

_ They rode mostly in silence for the rest of the journey, only breaking it to make observations about their surroundings and to keep themselves awake.  _

_ Treville would never forget the tiny sound the Cardinal made as they rode into the city. It was halfway between a sob and a joyful sigh and the man opened his eyes as if he’d never seen Paris before in his life. Treville felt his shoulders relax as they rode into the dawn of a new day and a new future for France. _

 

Treville looked up at the sound of footsteps in the small church, his memories fading away from his mind like dew in the morning. Richelieu was walking towards him, clad in the full robes of the Cardinal. His fingers brushed the pews as if he was not sure if he could walk without assistance and would use them as support if he faltered.

Richelieu nodded at him, gesturing in a wordless plea to sit down beside him in the pew. 

Treville moved aside and Richelieu sat down carefully, his cloak brushing against Treville’s uniform. He had seen the Cardinal’s carriage in the street before he had entered the church, and Richelieu must have spotted him and decided to follow him perhaps because Treville did not often attend church unless he had to do so. The Cardinal must have thought that his behavior was strange and decided to investigate.

“How much do you remember from our journey to Paris?” Treville asked, looking at the man beside him after Richelieu had made himself comfortable. Their hips and shoulder’s brushed and the fabric of Richelieu’s sleeve touched his wrist but Treville felt rooted to the pew, unwilling to move an inch to the side so that there would be more space between them. The material of Richelieu’s sleeve was fine, much finer than the scratchy wool and rough linen of the village priest’s outfit, much better than Treville’s spare shirt that had gone missing after he’d arrived back in Paris.

A part of him wanted Richelieu to remember nothing, or only small bits and pieces of the French countryside and the jostle of horseback riding. If he did not remember Treville carrying him, much less being pressed up against him for hours on end while riding, then things would be so much easier between them. They could slip back into their old roles like Richeliu had never been imprisoned, as if he had never left Paris at all.

“Everything, Captain,” Richelieu answered, his tone serious. “I remember everything. Even my Latin grammar slipping.”

“It must be a relief to be back in the Palais-Cardinal, back in Paris,” Treville said quietly, looking around him at the church so that he would not have to look at Richelieu and see things that would cause his heart to hope for things that he would never get. It was a safe observation, one that was professional but friendly,

“Oh yes,” Richelieu said, “Everything is as it should be and more so.”

There was a short silence in which the Cardinal adjusted his robes and touched his cross.

“But there are days where I cannot help wondering… if this is all a dream. I fear that when I open my eyes in the morning I will see the stone roof of my cell.”

“It takes time to adjust,” Treville said, “for all of us.”

Treville felt Richelieu place his hand on top of his own scarred hand, a slow and careful movement as if the Cardinal was waiting for him to pull his hand away. Treville did not move at all and breathed out, enjoying the sensation of their hands touching in this private space, in this private moment.

Treville glanced at Richelieu, who had closed his eyes and straightened his spine and was most likely praying.

Well, the man was a technically a priest who was currently located in a church. Perhaps he was just doing that job and attempting to comfort Treville?

Treville closed his eyes too as they sat in complete silence for a long while. He would take what he could get, even if it was something as small as this and could easily be brushed away as professional behavior. It was a hostile, unforgiving world. There was nothing wrong with a little comfort now and then.


	3. Chapter 3

“The Captain is a very capable man, your majesty,” Richelieu said, watching Treville exchange words with a courtier who had made an unwise comment. A few minutes ago Treville had stood beside the Cardinal and smiled indulgently at the King as Louis had told them about his desire to go hunting soon.

“I did not rescue the Cardinal from a Spanish prison so that you could plan to attack him,” Richelieu heard Treville say in a loud voice and saw his fingers brush his sword. Then Porthos stepped in front of his Captain so that there would be no fighting. Aramis and Athos appeared to alternatively try to calm Treville and ask questions about his motives. Treville was answering them in a low voice, clearly on edge.

“Indeed,” Louis said, watching Treville with some interest.

“I once saw him knock out a man using only his legs,” Richelieu mused. 

It had been the first thing he saw when the Musketeers had broken into the prison where he had been kept. First he had heard a horrible racket, as sure sign of the Musketeers. Then there had been loud voices, wood splintering and the sound of swords clashing and finally he had seen Captain Treville hanging from a beam and choking a guard with his legs. It had been a magnificent sight, and one he had never imagined, even in his wildest dreams.

“That is a very portable talent,” Louis replied, raising his eyebrows.

“Yes, your majesty,” Richelieu said, “not a man to be crossed, certainly.”

The courtier, a new one that Richelieu had not paid much attention to, but remembered that he had tried to kick his cat Gazette and therefore deserved nothing good in this world or the next, looked appropriately alarmed.

“Do excuse me, your majesty, I must have a word with Captain Treville,” Richelieu continued.

“Of course,” Louis said, “it is a pleasure to see that you are getting along so well these days.”

Richelieu bowed with a neutral expression and walked towards Treville and the Musketeers. The courtier was staring at him with a pleading expression, clearly hoping that Richelieu as a man of God was going to save him from their mutual enemy, Captain Treville.

“God sent Captain Treville to rescue me from a Spanish prison, so we must assume that there is a reason why I am back at court, must we not?” Richelieu asked the man, who nodded fervently.

“Yes, your Eminence,” the man replied, his words blurring together as if he was trying to get them out as fast as possible, “I will leave now.”

“Yes, you will,” Richelieu said, turning his attention back to Treville. “Would you like to join me for a walk in the garden, Captain?”

Treville looked mildly pleased, ducking his head to hide the small smile on his face. Richelieu tried to ignore the way his heart lurched at this expression of friendliness.

“After all, we have much to discuss,” Richelieu continued as he saw that he Musketeers were watching him with suspicion in their eyes.

“Yes, I think that would be a good idea,” Treville said as they began to walk towards the doors that led to the garden.

When they had arrived outside Richelieu slowed his pace, feeling his bones ache and the first pangs of a migraine make themselves apparent. He knew he was overworking himself, trying to get as much paperwork done as possible during the night and not sleeping enough. He had never slept much, but he knew that his fitful sleep was not restful enough so that he could function as well as if he was sleeping properly.

The doctors told him that he was still recovering mentally and physically from being imprisoned and that it would take time. The prison had not been horrifying, but the food had been sparse and not highly nutritious, and Richelieu had been aware that he had been growing steadily more malnourished by the week. The beatings he dealt with, compartmentalizing the pain like he did with his migraines and he watched his captors treat and bandage his wounds carefully as they did not want him to die on them too soon.  

However, enough bed rest and light meals with fresh bread and fruit were doing a fine job repairing the damage caused by those problems.  But the issue that was truly vexing him was that he had been isolated for such a long time and had only met people who were intent on physically harming him, leaving him wary of other people touching him while simultaneously craving contact.

Petting his cats did help with the worst of it, and he was able to force himself to remain calm and not to flinch when the King himself touched him casually. But almost everyone else was out of bounds if he did not want to be seen freezing up or backing away from others which would be bad for politics and his reputation as the feared Cardinal. It was easy to avoid touching others and remain at a respectful distance as people would excuse that as a desire for privacy. 

There was only one person who he could touch without feeling the need to run away, and that was Captain Treville. In a way, it made logical sense as Treville had been the one who had saved him and carried him away from the prison. Treville had willingly subjected himself to being touched for hours on end by Richelieu without complaint. And so, when Richelieu craved touch, Treville was the only one he could stand touching him. 

Richelieu closed his eyes briefly, trying to ignore the migraine that was threatening to surface due to his exhaustion. He could sense Treville turning to face him, aware of his discomfort as they stopped walking.

“Would you mind assisting me, Captain?” Richelieu asked, reaching out his hand to indicate that they would walk arm in arm. “I am afraid that the recovery is not as fast as I would like.”

He could see understanding dawn in Treville’s eyes, then he nodded and allowed Richelieu to hold onto his arm as they walked. Richelieu let himself notice the gleam in Treville’s eyes and the faint blush on his neck as they made their way through the gardens. The grass was soft underneath Richelieu’s boots and the flowers were in bloom. He could feel the tension in his shoulders bleeding out of him as Treville took off his hat to enjoy the sun and smiled at him.

Richelieu gripped Treville’s well muscled arm lightly but securely enough so that Treville was indeed supporting him. These arms had lifted him from the cold floor of his cell and carried him like a bride out of it. The Cardinal felt warmth soak his very soul as they walked side by side. The air smelled of tulips and fresh grass and the leather of Treville’s uniform.

It was a truly perfect moment in time, one of few they would ever be allowed to have in the open air like this, walking alone in the garden with no one to stop them from doing it.  Richelieu looked at the man beside him, who had a pensive expression on his face as he gazed at some red tulips and carefully matched the Cardinal’s slow pace.

_ Let me have this _ , Richelieu prayed, looking up at the blue sky _ , please let me have this even if I never get anything else. I can live on crumbs, the illusion of a relationship with Treville is better than nothing at all because if I have that at least I will have a warm memory on a cold night. Lord, I never expected to have the whole bread, so let me have crumbs. _

Treville was humming under his breath, a soft lullaby or a country love song. 

Perhaps in the far future relationships between men would be allowed to exist openly, perhaps they would even be allowed to marry. It was a strange thought to have here in the garden, but the sky was wide and seemingly endless above them, full of unspoken possibilities. If they had born in a different time, this would have been something Richelieu could have spoken about out loud. 

But he continued walking without mentioning anything, breathing in the clean air and trying to clear his mind. Treville was also quiet, seemingly enjoying himself.

“It is good to see the sun again,” Richelieu said as they walked past a large rose bush.

Treville smiled at him, picking up several tiny purple wildflowers that the gardeners had missed and handed them over to Richelieu who took them before he could think of why he should not do so. 

Richelieu inspected the petals and the stems, wondering if he should put the flowers on his desk before realizing that Treville was no longer touching him. 

“I can make my own way back if you do not wish to continue to allow me to-“ Richelieu paused, “- there is no need to pity me - “

Treville stared at him for a brief moment, as if he was absorbing this new information and considering it to be ridiculous. 

“No, no,” Treville said, shaking his head and gestured towards Richelieu’s whole body, “this is no different than wounds received by soldiers on the battlefield. Let’s continue.”

Richelieu nodded and they kept walking arm in arm. Treville’s arm was warm under his hand as they walked and he could not help being reminded of when he had woken up in the little village church and realized that the Captain had not let go of his hand as while Richelieu had slept. They had only walked for a few minutes when they heard voices from behind some large bushes.

“Why does the Captain let the Cardinal use him as a human walking stick?” D'artagnan's voice said, sounding both confused and irritated.

“I don’t want to know,” Aramis said, “they are probably talking about some big-picture politics or something of the sort.”

Richelieu looked at Treville, who had the strange expression of a parent who had just caught his unruly sons doing something they should not be doing.

“We’ll meet later on then,” the Cardinal said, “kindly keep me informed if you hear anything-"

But the Captain was already on his way towards the bushes, lifting his hand in goodbye.


	4. Chapter 4

Months had passed, and they settled back into their roles with ease. The Cardinal once again regarded France as his own personal chessboard and would play the king and the courtiers like a series of well tuned fiddles. The Captain was content with this position as the Captain of the Musketeers. The world had continued turning heedless of their feelings about it or each other.

Captain Treville hurried towards Richelieu’s office, listening to his footsteps in the empty hallway. Several Musketeers had been fighting in the garrison, shouting at each other and making threats and Treville had spent some time scolding them in his office making him hour late to his meeting with Richelieu. 

A Red Guard stepped in front of him when he turned around a corner, blocking his path.

“The Cardinal has retired to his chambers, Captain,” he said, “you will not find him in his office.”

Treville nodded him and the other Red Guards who lined the hallway, who bowed their heads in acknowledgement. Treville tightened the grip on his broad-brimmed hat as he walked towards Richelieu’s bedroom, aware that it would be wiser to turn around and go back to the garrison and make his excuses later. He continued walking, picking up the pace.

Life was so much easier now that Richelieu was back in Paris. It was a pleasure seeing him back at court, striding through the hallways alongside the king and standing beside Treville during diplomatic meetings. The Cardinal would flash him a wicked smile during those meetings when everything was going according to plan or glance at him when someone was being particularly irritating.

These days Richelieu would discreetly seek him out after a harrowing day at court, delicately wrapping his fingers around Treville’s arm as they walked side by side when they were alone. Treville saw this as an expression of Richelieu’s desire for comfort, either for himself or Treville. Some days Treville would shout himself hoarse or become overwhelmed and Richelieu would show up beside him before he got himself into even more trouble and begin talking about politics, current events, or bizarrely, his cats.  Sometimes Richelieu would start a fight with him instead, poking at him until his temper flared and he would snarl at the other man, who would make pointed comments back at him.

With the Cardinal back, there would be stability. So if something would happen to Treville, if he was attacked or heavily injured or even killed, things would still be fine. He had already heard some of the courtiers whisper about his age and stamina and seen the look in their eyes when he had broken his arm in what felt like another lifetime. Time was running out and he was no longer in his prime. He was an old soldier. One day soon he might be gently pushed out of court and made to return to his estate to manage it. Treville knew that he was replaceable, such was the nature of his profession and the Musketeers. There could always be a new Captain, and he had trained his men well so that they knew how to lead. It was simply how the world worked.

Treville looked out a nearby window and realized that the sun had already set and the sky was dark and studded with stars. For a moment he looked at the gardens and breathed out before knocking on the door that led to Richelieu’s rooms.

He had expected to see the man still clad in his cloak and reading paperwork by candlelight. Instead, Richelieu was sitting in a large armchair, petting one of his cats and reading a book on theology while wearing an embroidered nightgown which was covered in cat-hair.

“Good evening, Captain,” Richelieu said, looking up from his book. “I’m glad you could make it.”

Treville stared at the man in front of him, focusing on not shielding his eyes. He had not been prepared for the possibility of the Cardinal wearing his night clothes, even if it was technically night time. He could feel his face heating up and saw that the Cardinal was fidgeting in his chair, his eyes downcast for a brief moment.

Treville had seen him wearing less, but the rags Richelieu had been wearing in the cell had not been something he had focused on, even if Richelieu had mentioned that their purpose had been to remind him that he was only a prisoner and not an esteemed citizen of France. Treville had just scooped Richelieu up from the floor as carefully as possible and headed outside.

“There as was problem at the garrison that is solved now, but delayed me” Treville explained and fought the urge to rub his eyes to get rid of the grubby feeling that came with fatigue. He could barely remember if he had sat down at all today. “Some days I wonder how they will handle such matters when I am gone.”

“You’re leaving?” Richelieu asked, standing up from his chair with a furrowed brow and a worried look in his eyes. “The king has not mentioned that he is sending you on a mission-“

“I will not be Captain forever, your Eminence,” Treville stated, trying to keep his voice steady as the man in front of him straightened his back and narrowed his eyes. 

“You are not replaceable, Treville,” Richelieu began, his face paling noticeably as he stepped closer to Treville but kept a hand on the arm of the armchair where his cat was now curled up in a ball and watching both of them.

“There has been too much damage to my body over the years,” Treville said, sounding weary even to himself, “And there are many men that could take my place and do it well.”

Richelieu was shaking his head, as if he could not believe his own ears, as if he had never considered the possibility of Treville retiring or leaving the Musketeers. As if he had grown so used to his presence that it had become a fact of life.

“I disagree,” Richelieu said, “you are not considered to be some sort of acceptable collateral damage. I will not allow anyone to sacrifice someone like you, with all your years of experience and skill, to give some young upstart will have a chance to make his way in the world as the Captain of the Musketeers-”

“I am not as important to France as you are, Cardinal,” Treville argued, “They tolerated me when you were gone, but now you have returned they will soon realize that they no longer need me-“

Treville looked down at his balled fists and slowly unclenched them. When he looked up he saw that Richelieu was just a few steps away from him.

“But I need you,” Richelieu said, his voice quiet but strong and filled with ironclad certainty. “I need you.”

“What?” Treville asked, his mind reeling.

“I do not want you to leave,” Richelieu said, as if clarifying something in one of his sermons, “I want you to stay.”

Treville inclined his head, blinking back the tears that threatened to surface. He had never dreamed of getting a statement like this from Richelieu, not even in his wildest fantasies. Treville could not comprehend anything but the beating of his own heart as Richelieu stepped even closer to him, never breaking eye contact and then stilled, as if waiting for Treville to make a sign that he was allowed to continue.

Treville nodded, raising his head so that he could look into Richelieu’s eyes. 

“I asked you to come here because I wanted to thank you for rescuing me, even though it was not personal,” Richelieu said, nodding as if he had already decided that it was true. Treville could see that he was pulling back from something, his eyes gleaming in the warm light. Treville knew retreat when he saw it.

“It was,” Treville said, keeping his voice level. He swallowed, aware that they were on the edge of something that would never be allowed be rewritten.

Richelieu took Treville’s hand as tenderly as he could and lifted it to his lips. His eyes was filled with sorrow and more than a hint of fear, but he continued holding onto Treville’s hand as if he could not bear to let go. His hands were shaking slightly.

Treville’s thoughts ground to a halt as he felt Richelieu’s lips touch his scarred fingers, the barest brush. He could barely breathe as emotions swirled in his head like a hurricane as they continued to look each other in the eyes, unflinching.

Treville realized that this kiss was an unspoken love confession and nothing less than a terrifying leap of faith. It was also a love confession from a man who believed that Treville was leaving Paris for good soon and therefore would have nothing to lose. The look in Richelieu’s eyes was terrible in its vulnerability, the look of a man who did not believe that his love would ever be returned, but was willing to make the leap anyway. It was a goodbye kiss and the only kiss that Richelieu believed he would ever get, come rain or shine.

Treville could have dismissed this as a mere expression of gratitude, but he was unable to ignore the raw emotion in Richelieu’s eyes. A part of him wondered what Richelieu was seeing in his own expression to react like that.

Treville decided that the only way to respond to this was to take the leap of faith himself, and drew the other man close by his waist and kissed him.

It took Richelieu a few seconds to react, but Treville waited patiently until Richelieu realized what had happened. They had been waiting for years now, a few more seconds could not hurt. 

And then Richelieu was kissing him back, hands wrapping around his waist and leaning into his touch as the kiss became more heated. Treville slid his hands into Richelieu’s curls as they finally pulled apart, foreheads touching as they breathed in unison. 

“Good,” Treville said, holding onto Richelieu’s shoulder and grinning at him helplessly. The smile on Richelieu’s face was a decidedly wicked one as he pulled Treville in again for another kiss and carefully undid some of the buckles that held Treville’s breastplate in place. His movements were slow, as if he was expecting to be stopped. Treville made an approving sound and slid the fabric of Richelieu’s nightgown between his fingers.

 

It became clear later that evening that it was very useful indeed that Richelieu was only wearing his nightclothes instead of his complicated Cardinal robes. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Let's hope this makes any sense.


End file.
